


Love, Sherlock

by Kellyjelly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AHS - 1984 au, Abusive Sherlock, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Attempted Murder, BAMF John, Biting, Blood Kink, But if y’all like it...cool, Claiming, Dark! Fic, Dominance, Everyone is a suspect, Grinding, Jealousy, John is 18, John is tough as fuck, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Games, Murder, Mystery, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Sherlock is 19, Sherlock is a bad boy, Sherlock is bad, There’s a murderer at camp, Toxic Relationship, Unrequited Love, Violence, Who’s the killer?, alternative universe, bottom!John, dark!Sherlock, teen!lock, this fic is for me, top!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21576742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyjelly/pseuds/Kellyjelly
Summary: Camp Redwood.The destiny of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, two teenage boys who were nothing alike. Sherlock, the menacing bully of school and John, the protector of those who couldn’t defend themselves.Both are thrown together to share their summer at Camp Redwood but a series of murders arise. Slowly everyone who attended Camp Redwood are dying.There’s only one question: Who’s the killer?
Relationships: Irene Adler/Molly Hooper, Jim Moriarty/Sebastian Moran, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 24
Kudos: 49





	Love, Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my gorgeous readers! 
> 
> I proudly present a new series of fics that will be dark fics. I have always wanted to write a dark johnlock fic and with my recent inspiration sparking up again, I decided to enter the realm of darkness. This will be one of two dark johnlock fics that I will write. 
> 
> This story will be a mixture of American Horror Story and Penny Dreadful. I do warn everyone, this fic will contain many references to the devil and Satan and every diabolic reference to the underworld. Please do not think that I am a devil follower or a satanic lover, I am simply transporting the dark energy that both shows provide and translating them into this fic. 
> 
> If you are sensitive to such topics or have specific religious beliefs that goes against what I’ve written, please don’t feel the need to read it because I do not want to cause or activate any triggers. 
> 
> Also, since this fic was inspired by the new season of American Horror Story which is 1984. Expect many cameos of all the characters in every season in this fic. I’ll announce all the characters that will show up in every chapter. For this chapter, we will see Spalding, a character who came out in AHS Coven, season 3. 
> 
> Other than that, enjoy the story!

  
  
**August 1st at 4:08 pm**

  
  
“We’re the only ones left, Sherlock.” John was panting heavily while he rested his hands on his thighs. 

Sherlock ran his fingers through his curls and looked at John. “Obviously we’re the only ones.” 

“What do we do? There’s a killer on the loose and we have no way out. What does this killer want from us?” 

Sherlock checked their surroundings before answering John’s questions. “I’m not sure. Unless… the killer wants one of us.” 

John looked up at Sherlock, feeling slightly conflicted at the calculated look Sherlock was giving him. 

Was Sherlock willing to give up John in order to save himself? Was Sherlock’s narcissistic existence more valuable than John’s life? 

John was not sure but he pushed that thought away and walked past Sherlock, trying to see if there’s any more routes that could lead them away from the camp. “Which way should we go?” 

“I’m so sorry, John.” 

Before John could answer, John felt an unbearable pain at the back of his neck followed by the sight of pitch darkness. 

  
  
*-* 

  
  
**3 Months Earlier**

  
  
Camp Redwood. 

  
  
One of the destinations of the many students attending Kent College in Canterbury, England. A well-hidden boarding school that housed boys and girls. The school was split into two sections; one section belonged to the boys while the other section corresponded to the girls. Both sexes were segregated for the major part of their time; save for breaks that included breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

Other than those three events, boys and girls were forced to stay apart from each other and attend their classes. It was a yearly ritual for the students in their 12th year to attend a summer camp in order to acquire more friends and discover a new hobby that could potentially lead them into a prospective career. At the moment, there were 184 students in year 12. 

Since year 12 had a lot of students; the director of the school decided to spilt the students into seven major groups. Each group was designated to attend seven different camp sites which meant that 26-27 students would be spending their summer together. The group heading towards Camp Redwood included a variety of students. 

All the other groups were relieved to learn that the famous Sherlock Holmes was chosen to attend Camp Redwood. Sherlock Holmes was the popular/feared boy at school; Sherlock was a nineteen-year-old boy who smoked cigarettes and created mischief. The highly functioning sociopath was famous due to his nonstop deductions that gave him a victimizing ambient that created the most heartless bully in school. 

Due to Sherlock’s cold demeanor, this brought upon an awakening of other bullies that were waiting for someone like Sherlock to be their leader. In exactly two days, Sherlock managed to create his own posse with fucked up people who never failed to let Sherlock down. His group included backstabbing characters like Jim Moriarty, Sally Donovan, Irene Adler, Sebastian Moran, Phillip Anderson, and Janine Hawkins. 

Every single student at Kent College were either jealous or terrified of Sherlock’s group. Such nocuous effects brought upon a single emotion that everyone shared when they saw Sherlock Holmes and that was fear. Sherlock never expected to become the person he was today because when he was younger, he grew up in a loving atmosphere that consisted of his father, mother, and older brother. 

The boy was destined to be as brilliant as his older brother, Mycroft Holmes. But too many expectations were expected from Sherlock; the boy was basically forced to become another Mycroft Holmes but Sherlock didn’t want to become a replica of his brother. 

Oh no. 

Sherlock wanted to be unique; he didn’t want to camouflage in between the roses of a garden, he wanted to stand out like the weeds that destroyed the heavenly glow of a rose. Sherlock strived to become a genius and use his deductions to get him further into his awaited future but that simple dream never came true. 

Sherlock was only seven when his parents died and he was left under the care of his brother. Since then, all hell broke loose. Mycroft —the legal guardian of Sherlock— proved to be an unforgivable brother who demanded Sherlock to achieve more than just knowledge and forced the boy to evolve into a similar nature that overtook Mycroft and transformed him into the man he was today. 

Due to the constant nagging from Mycroft, it pushed Sherlock to seek peace and serenity from the additive source of drugs. 

By the age of ten, Sherlock already learned how to shoot heroine into his veins and calculate how much he needed in order to drown out the loud voices of his brother. After his never-ending infatuation with heroine, the boy proceeded to seek out other harmful drugs that fucked up his entire system. Sherlock knew that eventually Mycroft would catch him in the act and true to his word, Mycroft confiscated all the drugs pertaining to his younger brother and forced Sherlock to become clean. 

It was a painful process; leaving behind the sweet escape of injecting the golden streams of death into his veins. And it wasn’t until the age of eleven, did Sherlock realize that he didn’t want to be anything like Mycroft. The boy didn’t want to be equated as a gentlemen, he didn’t want to suffer the stages of bullying that would eventually appear once everyone knew of the deduction quality that he possessed, he didn’t want to follow orders in respect to keeping the peace and he certainly didn’t want to follow the steps of his brother which included gaining a boring position in the British government. 

No. 

Sherlock wanted the complete opposite. Damn the societal norms of being well spoken, curse the restrictions of avoiding foul language and fuck the responsibilities that corresponded to Sherlock. The retribution of denying the legacy that is passed on from one generation to another was an act of selfishness, Sherlock didn’t want to represent the money or the name of his family. 

Sherlock did not want to carry the burden of having others’ respect due to the name tied into his family history. No, he wanted to gain the respect from others due to the reputation he would create for himself and he wanted to carry on his own legacy, not the legacy of his family. Sherlock didn’t want to be related to the side of the angels, he didn’t want to be seen as another holy deity that kneeled before god and accepted the established fate he was doomed to follow. 

Sherlock wanted to become darkness; he wanted to create a sinister image that represented his true nature. A demon that craved to skulk about in the shadows and produce an infection that could wipe out god’s most weakest creations. This world belonged to the hidden ones, the ones who are vulnerable enough to give up everything in order to be owned by a darker force. 

The flicker between good and evil, the spark that ignited when a truly great person can stoop to the level of those who are insane criminals that chase after danger and blood. The collision of those who were sculpted and manipulated into becoming reprehensible monsters that craved to see the world burn. 

That was Sherlock’s golden ticket; he wanted to represent the underworld of evil that can be pushed towards glory and freedom. So, being an angel was never Sherlock’s purpose but if the boy didn’t present enough traits that could deem him as an angel, then why the fuck couldn’t he be the devil. 

Why couldn’t the commencement of flaming embers flicker with the reckoning of targeting those —which meant everyone— whose secrets were on display all the time? Why couldn’t Sherlock create a rebirth of poisoning others by spreading the virus of mischief? Why couldn’t the boy be consumed by the dark injections of rage that allowed Sherlock to direct a contagious hate towards others? 

Would it be so wrong for Sherlock to continue down the wrong path and eventually become a monster? 

The answer to Sherlock’s question was yet to be answered when Mycroft decided to ship his younger brother to boarding school. Mycroft made this decision in hopes of gaining back the little boy he once knew when his parents were alive. And Mycroft had expectations of Sherlock cleaning up his act and becoming pure again. 

All those expectations were never achieved; the location of Sherlock’s boarding school was the birth place of his awaited demeanor that spilled of sin. If Sherlock were a true believer in coexisting with the perversion of corrupting one’s act, he would’ve continued his use in drugs and contaminate the act of transport which was his body. 

But perhaps there was a 0.01% of goodness inside him; so instead of delving into drugs, Sherlock stuck to smoking cigarettes. Cigarettes weren’t considered as divine pathways that led into a healthy long living life but they were preferred than raw narcotics that slowed Sherlock’s capability to think. The new set up of his life was the beginning of something terribly wonderful. 

Year by year, Sherlock grew up into the nineteen-year-old boy that he was now. And Sherlock created a unique look for himself which included a black leather jacket, a plain white shirt beneath and black trousers along with the fanciest dress shoes that gave off a bad boy/posh vibe. It was no surprise to Sherlock that every boy and girl in school had an evident crush on him; of course, Sherlock knew that he was the hottest shit to ever walk around these halls so why couldn’t he bask in the attention that everyone gave him. 

Since he was the most gorgeous thing in school; Sherlock was correlated to being the snake to everyone’s forbidden fruit, a menacing influence that led everyone into mayhem. Even though Sherlock was prone to delivering indecent influences to others, there was a lack of reciprocation that could make Sherlock desire a person with every bit of his corrupted soul. 

Of course, an idiot would know that the numbers concerning the sexes will always be in a state of overflow. Meaning that half of the population in school were girls and even the existence of the most beautiful female prodigy could never manage to turn Sherlock’s head. The other half of the sexes were boys and not even a specimen that was mischievously attractive could make Sherlock stop in full daylight. 

But there was one person who made Sherlock believe that ruling the world into darkness was meant to be shared by two people instead of one. A person who was clearly meant to be by Sherlock’s side, a person who was on the borderline of violence and turmoil. Someone who challenged Sherlock’s views and made Sherlock question himself. 

A person who was born to thrive next to Sherlock’s throne and convert Sherlock into a depraved demon that constantly fantasized the act of copulating with another person. Someone who was willing to defy Sherlock’s brutality and make the boy bleed with such ease. This was the main interchange that made Sherlock believe that love was a barbaric display of destructiveness, greed, possessiveness, and cruelty. 

Yes, that impure and vile definition of love was brought upon by one person who Sherlock had his eyes set upon. 

That person was named John Watson. 

John fucking Watson, the hottest boy with arctic blue eyes and shining golden blond hair. Oh John, a creation given to Sherlock by Satan himself, an entity destined to fall at Sherlock’s feet. 

Don’t get Sherlock wrong; he never cared for love interests or infatuations that usually lasted about two weeks for any average or shall Sherlock say, boring person. In fact, Sherlock believed that the reduction of one’s attention towards a single person was an opportunity to let others take a knife and stab you from any blind spot available to them. 

Sherlock would never stoop down to become a target to his enemies but when the boy realized that John Watson was the syringe to his veins, how on earth could Sherlock let go of the only instrument that allowed him to enjoy heroin. A beautiful addiction couldn’t be abandoned so easily and John Watson was an addiction that Sherlock couldn’t get enough of. 

Of course, unbeknown to John, Sherlock had met the boy way before they encountered each other at boarding school. Sherlock remembered it like it was yesterday, he could recall meeting John when they were simply children. Sherlock could almost taste the words tumbling out of John’s mouth when the smaller boy greeted him for the first time. 

It was a shortly lived ‘hello’ when Sherlock deduced that the boy with the kind eyes and blond hair was his neighbor. John was the first boy who ever tried to be friends with Sherlock; of course, that was when Sherlock was happy and naïve. Since then, Sherlock developed an innocent crush towards the blond boy but it never lasted for long. 

Three years later, John moved houses and since then Sherlock has never laid eyes on him again. To a certain point, Sherlock forgot about the existence of John until his attendance to boarding school forced him to encounter the one boy who managed to slip away from him. Their encounter was not equivalent to love at first sight; in fact, their first encounter was like two forces deciding whether to collapse against each other or repel from one another. 

The moment where Sherlock became obsessed with John was during year 11, it was a brisk night when Molly Hooper was hurriedly rushing back to her dormitory when Sherlock and his posse cornered Molly against the wall. Molly was always subjected to suffer the torments of Irene Adler along with everyone else who delighted in the sight of seeing Molly crying and being defenseless. 

Sherlock never held a tremendous interest in Molly Hooper but he could tell how much Irene wanted to own Molly. So, the taller boy would observe and enjoy how pathetic Molly Hooper was and couldn’t understand what Irene saw in her. But nevertheless, Sherlock never judged the taste of his friends. Instead, Sherlock watched as Irene grabbed the books in Molly’s hands and threw them aside. 

Sherlock did a quick check around the perimeter; making sure that no one was passing by and stood back, watching his friends taunting Molly while he smoked a cigarette and laughed every time Molly flinched at Irene’s snarling voice. Such abuse could have been prevented but Sherlock knew that no one was going to pay attention to a bunch of kids bullying a girl in between an abandoned corridor. 

Molly was whimpering uncontrollably and begging everyone to leave her alone, which never happened. Jim was taunting the poor girl and becoming frisky, for Jim grabbed the hem of Molly’s skirt and lifted it, exposing the girl’s baby blue panties. It wasn’t until Irene stepped forward and shoved Jim to the side, snarling at the boy for even touching Molly. 

Irene mockingly caressed Molly’s face, wrapping her arms around Molly’s waist and molesting the girl. Everyone began to laugh at the sound of Molly’s screams and gradually, every single person began to mimic Molly’s high-pitched shouts. This continued on for about five minutes when Irene silenced everyone and grabbed Molly’s face. 

Irene smiled devilishly and sensually dragged her tongue against Molly’s cheek, delighting herself in the violent shivers radiating through Molly’s body. In a matter of seconds, Irene wrapped her long fingers around Molly’s throat and forced herself upon Molly. Molly evaded the touch of Irene’s lips and pushed the taller girl back. 

The sudden rejection angered Irene and she delivered a sharp slap across Molly’s face, feeling the tip of her red nails slicing open the tender flesh of Molly’s lip. The unexpected hit caused Molly to lose balance but Irene grabbed the front of Molly’s shirt and slammed her against the wall, growling lowly and warning the shy girl to never do that again. 

Irene decided to teach Molly a few lessons about showing manners to someone who showed interest in her when someone cleared their throat and darkly said, “Get the fuck away from her.” 

The first to turn at the voice was Sherlock and the boy only caught a glimpse of black converse and dark colored jeans. Sherlock smirked, knowing that he’d be able to leave this person in tears and making the person regret their effort in being brave. Sherlock turned his entire body towards the stranger interrupting their ‘get together’ when Sherlock felt his body freezing completely. 

Sherlock made eye contact with the boy before him and immediately recognized the Alaskan ultramarine blue eyes that once made his heart skip a beat. 

Oh John. 

How could he ever forget about the boy who stole his breath away? 

After all this time; Sherlock managed to see John again, except this time, John was grown up. Sherlock knew that John was a year younger than him, so it was no surprise when he recalled knowing that a month ago John turned 18. Sherlock remembered how he locked himself in his room and did his yearly ritual; smelling the shirt he stole from John when they were younger and trying to imprint the barely faint smell into his skin. 

A small gift to the boy he never saw again until now. Sherlock deduced John and to his hugest disappointment, the boy became an ordinary citizen that held no value. Every speck of product intertwining through John’s golden hair led to a pathway of boring information concerning John. Every sculpted muscle hidden beneath John’s shirt said nothing more than the boy’s interest in sports, the vague smudges of charcoal on his fingertips were a clear indication of John’s interest in the medical field and the almost fading bruises on John’s forearms were signs of abuse being experienced in the boy’s home, mostly likely the abuse coming from his father. 

How boring. 

Sherlock did wish that John’s transformation could have been more magnanimous but like any other boring thing that exists in this shit world, nothing ever manages to create a surprise. Sherlock reached inside his pocket and wrapped his fingers around his lighter while he used the other hand to hold his cigarette between his index and middle finger. 

Sherlock fixed his leather jacket and took a few steps forward, standing to his full height and overshadowing John while blowing a cloud of smoke into John’s face. 

Sherlock exaggerated the amount of smoke slipping past his lips and snorted, looking back at his group and winking at them before he faced John again. “Can we help you?” 

John felt his lip twitching at the seductively low voice that the asshole before him used, clearly underestimating John’s temper. 

John took one step forward, almost being chest to chest with Sherlock and balling his hands into fists. “I thought you were the ones who hated hearing people repeating themselves. Can you not hear beyond your own ego? I said leave her alone.” 

Sherlock didn’t expect the spiteful comment and for a second, he was surprised to see a burning flame coming into the light. 

Did Sherlock did miss something? Was John actually a paradox of Sherlock’s own deductions? 

Sherlock did not have a clue. 

But Sherlock liked where this was going but he knew, no matter how this would end, Sherlock would win. The taller boy ran his tongue over the seam of his lips and hovered over John’s mouth, mimicking the action of biting into John’s lip and making the gesture with his mouth so lewd that John turned away from Sherlock’s gaze and made a disgusted face, not giving Sherlock the satisfaction of believing that John enjoyed this. 

Sherlock’s smile resembled the Cheshire Cat when he began to circle John like a predator does before, he goes in for the kill. Sherlock took in all of John’s weaknesses; cataloging them into his mind palace and choosing the ones that would leave the boy whimpering like a pathetic idiot. 

Sherlock still couldn’t believe the blandness that over took John and to his dissatisfaction, he could already calculate that in two minutes he’ll have John on the floor sobbing and begging Sherlock to forgive him for even interrupting their time being spent with Molly. What a shame, John had such potential but Sherlock was happy enough to remind John that he ran this school and he was the one in control. 

Sherlock stopped circling John and stood before the boy, brushing his thumb across John’s cheek. “Do you have any idea who I am?” 

John roughly swatted Sherlock’s hand away, shoving the taller boy back with a violent push. “You’re Sherlock Holmes.” 

“Good job, sunshine. Want me to give you a round of applause or should I just let you go and finish your assignments for biology which you’re obviously behind on.” 

John growled at the pet name that was sickeningly sweet when Sherlock purred it through his lips. “Don’t fucking call me, sunshine.” 

Sherlock charged towards John, roughly gripping John’s face with his strong slender fingers and coming face to face with John. “I can call you whatever the fuck I want. Or should I call you the mistake that made your parents regret your existence. Obviously by the fading bruises on your arms and neck, its clear that your father abuses you which leads me to deduce that he abuses your mother as well.” 

John’s hand shot towards Sherlock’s wrist, wrenching away the hold Sherlock had on him but that didn’t stop Sherlock from talking. “It seems that it runs in your family. Guess you and your mother are rape-able. Of course, that’s how you came into existence, every night daddy couldn’t get enough of his wife so he raped your mother until one day she was stupid enough to not take an after pill.” 

Sherlock made a grand gesture with his hands, emphasizing John’s form and facing his friends while laughing. “And the next thing you know, she’s pregnant with you. I could even tell you how many times your mother wanted to abort you. To be exact, she thought about it ten times and went to an abortion hospital twenty times. But like the coward she is, she kept you.” 

Sherlock took another drag of his cigarette and blew another puff of smoke into John’s face. “And now, you’re taking your mother’s place and enduring all the beatings meant for her. Of course, being the main mistake of your father’s life, he uses that advantage to beat the shit out of you.” 

Sherlock smirked, taking a pause in his deductions and enjoying the slight twitch running through John’s hand. 

Sherlock was praising himself and calculated that in about forty seconds, John Watson was about to crumble. “Need I go on?” 

John remained quiet for a bit until he couldn’t help the loud chuckles escaping his lips. “Is that all you’ve got to go on? Is that the best you can do? Seems pretty basic for the great Sherlock Holmes who deduces everyone’s life in one look.” 

Sherlock snarled, not taking pleasure in the smug look creeping onto John’s face. Sherlock shoved John against the wall, placing both arms at either side of John’s head and caging the boy in. 

Sherlock invaded John’s personal space and whispered into John’s ear. “How does it feel to have daddy’s cock stuffed inside you? Do you scream in pain or does daddy’s good boy beg for it like a pathetic whore?” 

That was the last string of patience being snipped into two pieces and John Watson was no longer holding back the urge to rearrange Sherlock’s face. When Sherlock pulled back to see John’s expression, he was expecting the boy to burst into tears. But what he saw instead, was pure rage and Sherlock was not prepared for the speed of John’s hands gripping onto the lapels of Sherlock’s leather jacket and head-butting Sherlock in the face. 

Sherlock stumbled onto the ground, feeling his mind going into a frenzy as he processed what just happened. 

Holy fuck. 

Sherlock was completely wrong about John Watson; his gorgeous sunshine had enough gasoline to ignite an everlasting fire that was powerful enough to burn the earth into piles of black ash. The violence surging over John’s body was like the angel of death. It was so beautiful; Sherlock has never encountered anyone with the flaming poison that easily transformed someone into a monster. 

Sherlock wanted more of the hidden vigor that John was unknowingly taming, he knew that John had an equally potent force that could combat Sherlock’s own malevolent energy but never enough to defeat Sherlock’s reign. The waves of unhallowed flames were spreading throughout Sherlock’s veins and the unholy sensation of finding the perfect mate caused Sherlock to revert back into primal instincts that overtook his following actions. 

Sherlock wanted to own the legislations that composed every note corresponding to the existence of John Watson; he wanted to possess the magical aura that defined the viability of John’s soul, he wanted to claim the years awaiting John’s cryptic future, he needed to make John his partner in order to bring forth the sunless abyss that could corrupt a good man’s reputation and he heavily desired the title that dictated John’s loyalty and vulnerability to be known as Sherlock’s mate. 

Sherlock coveted John’s body and soul, he desired every single cell roaming throughout John’s body to be irrevocably his. The submission of John’s love was a worthy trophy that pushed Sherlock to do anything in order to be the winner of John’s palpating bleeding heart. Already signing the fidelity of Sherlock’s love to John; it was up to Sherlock to isolate John from his family, murder every single person connected to him. 

If Sherlock successfully eliminated the blood ties correlating to John; then he would have created a situation where John was completely alone and the only person John would have, is Sherlock. There would be no escape from Sherlock, everything revolving around John’s surroundings will only consistent of Sherlock’s presence. 

And slowly, John would adapt to the new lifestyle that was eagerly waiting for him. Because of course; Sherlock wanted to become the very air John breathed, he wanted to become the molecules that supplied John with oxygen. Sherlock yearned the effect of dissipating into water and evaporating himself into John’s skin in order to feel the flow of blood running throughout John’s body. 

Sherlock swore to fucking Satan himself that he’d do anything to have John at the palm of his hand. Sherlock couldn’t explain the unfamiliar sensation taking over his body but he did know that the love for John Watson was no like no other love. 

Oh no. 

Sherlock’s love was on the borderline of being deranged because Sherlock loved John so much that if it came to it, he’d kill John himself. And wasn’t that such a lovely thought until Sherlock felt himself coming back into reality. The force of John’s knuckles meeting his sharp cheekbones was sufficiently enough energy to rip Sherlock away from the life he had already planned out in his mind for John and him. 

It wasn’t until after the first blow when he noticed John straddling his hips and beating him up. 

For a brief second, Sherlock saw the dark color of his blood coloring John’s knuckles and he adored the sight of John bearing his essence. Already, Sherlock felt his breath hitching knowing that a piece of him was sinking through John’s pores, a religious commencement of their own blood mixing together in order to define their ownership over one another. 

Obviously, it was too much for Sherlock to take in at the moment. 

This was the first time where Sherlock encountered a person who fought back, it was oddly refreshing to finally have a strong opponent. Sherlock had finally met his match and he swore that John Watson would be the only one who would ever have the privilege to fight him back. Sherlock could feel the sputters of blood oozing from his nose and mouth when something horrendously occurred which pissed off the taller boy. 

In a matter of seconds, Sebastian and Jim were pulling John off of Sherlock. 

How fucking dare, they, why did his ignorant friends — actually acquaintances — disturb the precious moment he was sharing with John? 

Could they not see the symbolic courtship of their union? Was the exchange of their blood too gruesome for others’ eyes when in reality, it was only meant to be viewed by John and Sherlock? 

Sherlock groaned when the pain of the beating spread across his face, he angrily spat an incredible amount of blood onto the floor. Sherlock looked up and saw John easily pushing Jim to the side, Sherlock grinned in a feral manner when witnessing Moriarty falling to the ground and whining like he always does. But Sebastian proved to not be an easy target to take down. 

Sebastian quickly placed John in a headlock position, grunting in pain when John repeatedly jabbed his elbows into his ribs. Sebastian had enough of John’s coarse thrashes and pushed John against the wall. The collision between the concrete barrier and John’s back was so brutal that John didn’t have enough time to stop himself from banging the back of his head against the wall. 

John hissed at the impactful blow but that didn’t stop John from fighting back. John pushed himself off the wall and kneed Sebastian in the stomach, causing Moran to double over and nearly knocking Sebastian onto the ground. But in a matter of seconds, Sebastian swallowed down the pain in his abdomens and delivered a punch across John’s face. 

Sebastian used the advantage of John’s disorientation and wrapped his hand around John’s neck, pressing John against the wall and snarling in his face. “I’m about to beat the shit out of you for hurting Jim and attacking Sherlock.” 

John wiped away the blood on his nose with his fingertips and saw the warm liquid staining his fingers. 

John couldn’t help but laugh, already feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins and intoxicating his body. “You couldn’t beat me up even if someone gave you an instruction manual.” 

Sherlock was vaguely listening to the conversation before him, all he knew was that Moriarty was bitching about his ruined suit. Sherlock rolled his eyes and couldn’t resist the urge to taste the blood drooling over his lips. John did this to him, his little scorpion marked his skin and left behind bruises to show Sherlock that John was willing to become his. 

Oh god, Sherlock felt a tightness in between his trousers and the taller boy made a confused face when he saw the evident erection growing in between his legs. Holy shit, this was the first time that anybody made him hard and desperate. This turned him on so much that it took every will and power inside of him to not attack Sebastian for laying his filthy hands over John. 

Fucking hell, Sherlock could feel the irresistible stimulation of burying his cock deep inside John and forever marking John from the inside as his property. 

Sebastian was about to begin the collision of his knuckles against John’s face when Sherlock snarled rabidly, “Don’t fucking touch him!” 

Moran looked back at Sherlock with a befuddled gaze. “But Sherlock —“ 

“I said. Don’t. Touch. Him.” 

Sebastian took a few steps back, giving John a deadly gaze and promptly making his way towards Jim. John looked back at Sherlock, ready to continue where they left off when the taller boy swiftly stood on his feet and hungrily smiled at John. Sherlock was hunching over a bit but stood his ground, feeling the droplets of blood slipping from his face and falling onto the ground. 

Sherlock directed his attention towards Molly; snorting at her trembling form and bowing down before her, dramatically emphasizing his movements. “Run. Skip. Hop. Jump. Do whatever you like.” 

Molly didn’t understand what was happening. “W-What?” 

“Are you deaf or just stupid?” Sherlock snapped. “I’m giving you a chance to leave. Take my offer before I change my mind.” 

Sherlock looked back at John. “Go to your savior, Molly Hooper.” 

Molly shakily picked up her books and ran towards John, staying close to John’s side and avoiding Irene’s angry gaze. John took off his jacket and wrapped it around Molly’s body, shielding the poor girl from the group of assholes before them and never letting his guard down. John placed his arm around Molly’s shoulders and quickly left the scene. 

“Bye buttercup.” Sherlock crooned, grinning wolfishly at the hateful gaze John gave him before the two disappeared from Sherlock’s sight. 

Sherlock stood tall, looking at his group and deducing their thoughts in three seconds. Sherlock ignored the loud questions thrown his way and walked towards the spot where a lovely puddle of John’s blood glimmered underneath the moonlight. Sherlock pressed his nimble fingers against the still freshly damp essence that gave John Watson the precious gift of life and rubbed the beautifully colored liquid between his fingertips. 

“No one touches him. Am I in anyway unclear?” Sherlock said in a scarily low voice, cutting off everyone’s questions. 

Anderson scoffed, taking a step forward and hovering over Sherlock. “What the fuck are you talking about Sherlock?! You’re gonna let that little shit walk all over you!” 

In the blink of an eye, Sherlock swirled around and wrapped his fingers around Anderson’s throat. Sherlock towered over Anderson and snarled, tightening his grip and constricting the air rushing through Anderson’s throat. 

“If I were you.” Sherlock hissed. 

“I’d be very careful about the words you use against John. He is mine and anything or anyone that belongs to me deserves respect. Is that understood?” Sherlock forcefully brought Anderson down to his knees and continued choking him. 

Anderson was barely able to breathe, let alone respond to Sherlock. 

Sherlock snarled impatiently and slapped Anderson across the face. “God fucking dammit, Anderson! I said you do you understand?! Your lack of response brings down the IQ of the entire school!” 

Anderson swallowed down the urge to cry at the sharp slap delivered to him and mumbled out, “I understand.” 

Sherlock released Anderson and brutally threw the boy back, a slight twitch of a smile flickered across his lips at the prominent injury created between Anderson’s head and the ground. Sherlock faced everyone and felt a surge of power running through his veins as he realized how afraid his friends were of him. 

“Get the fuck outta here. I want to be alone.” Sherlock said. 

Everyone fled to their dormitories, Sally was the only one who helped Anderson to his feet and removed him from Sherlock’s sight. Sherlock watched until everyone disappeared into the night. When he was satisfied to learn that he was completely alone, Sherlock pulled down the zipper of his trousers and pressed the palm of his hand against his cock. 

Sherlock threw his head back as he continued teasing himself until his urge couldn’t be held back any longer. Sherlock curiously slipped his fingers past his briefs and gripped his erection, already feeling a stream of pre-cum trickling down his length. 

Sherlock began to stroke himself off, steadily running his hand up and down his cock and greedily chasing after his orgasm. Sherlock was beyond the realm of reality, images of him and John participating in the sacrilegious act of sex were consuming his thoughts. Sherlock was panting roughly when he dipped his head forward and noticed his cock covered in blood. 

Sherlock completely forgot about John’s blood on his fingers and shuttered lustfully at seeing the most beautiful image before him. John’s blood, his little scorpions’ vital element was being smeared all over Sherlock’s cock and imprinting itself into Sherlock’s skin. The mere thought of taking away John’s virginity was too much to bear, the resemblance of the aftermath involving Sherlock penetrating John was such a pretty thought. 

Sherlock could already admire the shameless way of how his cock would look after making John bleed for him. Sherlock built up his speed and used his free hand to touch the blood and pre-cum on his cock. Once his clean fingers were stained with John’s blood and his pre-cum, Sherlock ravenously entered his fingers inside his mouth and moaned at the tase of John and him mixed together. 

The taste was equivalent to drinking the devil’s blood and my fucking god, Sherlock couldn’t get enough of it. The flavor of copper melting against his tongue was enough to make his cock squirt out ropes of semen. Sherlock came with a grunt; he braced his forearm against the wall and continued milking his cock until the only thing left were aftershocks. 

Sherlock felt himself convulsing for a bit; since this was his first orgasm, Sherlock needed a few minutes to compose himself before he returned to his prior façade. Sherlock looked down at his limp cock and sickly twisted his neck around, smiling psychotically and licking his lips. Sherlock ran his slender fingers through his raven curls and chuckled to himself while stuffing his drained cock inside his trousers. 

“Oh, the things I have in store for you, John Watson.” 

  
  
*-* 

  
  
**5:28 AM, Heading Towards Camp Redwood**

  
  
The private bus that was designated to take the entire section of the boys from Kent College to Camp Redwood was being driven by Spalding, an older quiet man with a disheveled nature and long hair. Spalding calmly drove towards Camp Redwood, he looked in the rear-view mirror and saw a tall boy with wild curls standing up and walking towards the back of the bus. 

Spalding didn’t care to see what were the boy’s intentions so, he continued driving in silence and missed the entire commotion Sherlock began. 

John was sitting in the back of the bus with Greg Lestrade, Mike Stamford, James Sholto, and Stephen Bainbridge. At the front of the bus, there was Sherlock Holmes, Jim Moriarty, Sebastian Moran, and Phillip Anderson. Apart from them, there were three other boys who were considered “nerdy” and their presence wasn’t even detected by Sherlock. 

Sherlock kept looking towards the back of the bus, trying to meet John’s gaze but his sunshine was stealthily avoiding making eye contact with him. After being on the road for a couple of miles, Sherlock couldn’t help but create chaos on the bus. 

So, could he be blamed if he randomly got up from his seat and made his way towards the back of the bus? 

Not really. 

Yet it was a delightful sensation to see the moment when John sensed Sherlock’s presence, Sherlock could see John’s posture becoming stiff and the deliciously slight twitch running through John’s hands. Sherlock couldn’t help the shiver running down his spine; this is the effect he had on John, he had the power to make John revert back into a primitive instinct that screamed of hostility. 

Sherlock lewdly licked his lips and took the opportunity of approaching John while his little scorpions’ back was towards him. 

Sherlock took the invitation and inhaled John’s scent, exaggerating the breathing sounds that escaped his nose and seductively purred out, “I feel my ears burning, are you guys talking about me?” 

All of John’s friends leaned back in their seats, giving each other an oh face and preparing themselves to see the fight between Sherlock and John. 

John rolled his eyes and slipped out of his seat, coming face to face with Sherlock. “Bold of you to assume that my only topic of conversation involves you.” 

Sherlock leaned closer to John, invading John’s personal space and lowly whispering. “I should be the only topic you should ever talk about.” 

John’s eye twitched, the very air that Sherlock possessed was equivalent to meeting death for the first time. 

John leaned up towards Sherlock’s mouth, hovering his lips over Sherlock’s fuller ones and pulled back when Sherlock dared to close the distance between their lips. “You have seven seconds to get out of my face before I punch the hell out of you.” 

Sherlock chuckled, grinning widely and dragging his thumb across John’s lower lip. “Why don’t you just admit that we’re perfect together? Think about it, just you and me against the rest of the world.” 

John resentfully slapped Sherlock’s hand away from his mouth and pushed Sherlock back. “In your dreams, Holmes. You may have a pretty face but your soul is just as black as death. Why would I even want someone like you?” 

Sherlock growled in bloodlust fury and spun John around by his hips, pressing John against the seat of the bus. John wanted to brace himself against the seat but Sherlock pulled back both of his hands and pressed them against John’s lower back. Sherlock fastened his slender fingers onto John’s hip and shoved his hard erection against John’s ass, slowly thrusting his erect cock in between John’s ass cheeks. 

Sherlock rested his forehead against the nape of John’s neck, the warm pants escaping Sherlock’s mouth were creating specks of water droplets onto John’s skin. “You want someone like me because I’m the only one who will treasure your very existence. Can you not feel how hard my cock is for you? Every time I see you, John, I just want to touch you and make you mine.” 

Sherlock sensually dragged his tongue across the nape of John’s neck and moaned when the taste of John’s skin imprinted onto his tongue. “The things you do to me, John Watson. You drive me insane with the urge to have you beneath me, to have you at my mercy and letting me inside you. Fuck. You would feel so good on me, taking my cock and begging me to fuck you senselessly.” 

John felt the raw aggressiveness bursting through his bloodstream, a shot of adrenaline converting his aggravated demeanor into one that even demons couldn’t conjure up. John threw his head back, hearing a loud crack that was probably due to the force of his head meeting Sherlock’s nose. The rebellious action caught Sherlock by surprise and my fucking god, Sherlock felt himself acquiring a sweet tooth for John’s insulant responses and he never wanted John to stop surprising him. 

But the forceful collision of John’s head against Sherlock’s, was enough to leave Sherlock disoriented for a second. During his short period of recovering from the blow, Sherlock felt himself being pressed down into one of the seats of the bus. In exactly seven seconds, John thrusted his knuckles against Sherlock’s face and smiled when he heard the morbid crack of Sherlock’s jaw. 

John growled viciously and grabbed Sherlock by his throat, enjoying the stream of blood seeping out of Sherlock’s mouth. “I’m gonna teach you about the meaning of pain, Sherlock. And let this be a fucking reminder that you will never touch me like that again. And if you do, I’ll grab a knife and slit your fucking throat.” 

Sherlock chuckled, absolutely worshipping the shrine of darkness before him. “Teach me all the lessons you want. In fact, my pretty golden sparrow, I like seeing you on top. It gives me a salacious preview of how lovely you would look riding my cock.” 

Sherlock snarled and vehemently spat blood into John’s face, purring in pleasure at seeing John being covered in a substance that belonged only to Sherlock. Everyone seeing the fight were either cheering for Sherlock or John, or they were desperately waiting to see who would win. Before John could beat the shit out of Sherlock, the bus went over a nasty bump and caused everyone to lose balance. 

Sherlock took that spilt second to remove John’s hand from his throat and delivered an unforgiving punch to John’s face. Once Sherlock managed to manipulate John’s position, he flipped them over. Sherlock slammed John against the floor of the bus and placed his entire weight on top of John. Sherlock secured his hands around John’s wrists and pinned him down. 

John thrashed against Sherlock’s hold but Sherlock didn’t let him go, instead he pressed his cock against John’s and began to roll his hips. “That’s it, John. See how good we feel together.” 

John groaned at the friction being created between his and Sherlock’s cock. Fucking shit, John hated the way his body betrayed him. The simple grinding of their erections was becoming an undeniable sensation of pleasure. But John was not going to give Sherlock the satisfaction of letting him know that his body wanted more of Sherlock’s thrusts. 

John closed his eyes and turned away from Sherlock’s gaze, displaying the features of disgust in his face and forcing himself to not enjoy this. The burning hate he felt towards Sherlock was beyond the realms of hell and if anything, John would sell his own soul to the devil if it included the chance of killing Sherlock Holmes. 

Sherlock saw the flash of desire sparking through John’s features and he knew that this was not a losing battle; somewhere inside his little scorpions’ bleeding heart, John wanted him as much as Sherlock did. But he knew that the process of making John his would take time… a lot of time. And for that, Sherlock was willing to push John’s boundaries to the extreme. 

Sherlock knew very little about relationships and what the meaning of commitments were but the idea of breaking norms and disregarding societal views was extremely seductive. From what Sherlock knew, there was an abundance of gentleness and kindness between two people who shared a relationship. Well, wasn’t that such a boring cliché. 

Oh no. 

In his relationship with John; there would be a surplus of violence. Of course, there would violence inflicted upon John whenever his little scorpion needed a scolding or whenever John needed a reminder as to who he belonged too. But the essential use of violence would be manifested to those who Sherlock and John deemed promising to endure a life of pain and suffering. 

They could conquer and kill anyone that they desired, share the wealth of blood together and intensify the undying pact they will have as a couple. Sherlock wanted John to reign by his side but Sherlock wanted to engrave a specific message into John’s skull. 

The message simply being that Sherlock would be the only one in control. 

Sherlock wanted to control John’s desires, John’s freedom, John’s actions, John’s thoughts, and every vulnerable detail that Sherlock could govern with his mind and body. God, Sherlock wanted John to succumb to his charms already but Sherlock could wait… Sherlock was patient. But if there was one thing that Sherlock couldn’t stand for, something that ticked him off with absolute certainty, was impudence. 

A surge of hostility came over him like a tsunami wave, Sherlock bared his teeth and hated the way John was denying him the pleasure of seeing the hidden lust buried deep inside John’s eyes. Sherlock did not tolerate rudeness, and it was fucking rude of John to deny him the reciprocation of their evident feelings towards one another. 

Sherlock wanted to witness the raw moment of the progress he’s gained with John. 

“Look at me when I talk to you!” Sherlock snarled, grabbing John’s wrist and using John’s own hand to slap John across the face. 

John’s eyes shot open and he gave Sherlock a venomous glare, “Fuck you!” 

Sherlock dove down and took hold of John’s lower lip in between his teeth and with a sickening moan, Sherlock bit down into John’s flesh. Sherlock broke the skin and savagely tore his teeth away from John’s lip, consuming the pained groan John emitted. Blood was oozing from John’s split open lip and Sherlock couldn’t help but eagerly run his tongue along the wound and drink down the precious liquid that radiated throughout John’s body. 

John growled and took Sherlock’s tongue in between his teeth and brutally bit down with such a force that Sherlock let out a tortured yell. Sherlock dug his nails into John’s wrists, inflicting pain upon John until John released his tongue. Splashes of blood were covering John’s teeth and to return the favor, John hateful spat blood into Sherlock’s face. 

Sherlock rumbled out a psychotic laughter and came face to face with John. “See, John. You’re obviously attracted to danger, to the thrill of the chase, to basking in the glory of violence. I can be that for you. You just need a little push. Why stay on the cliff when you can jump off? Take that jump with me and feel the addictive rush of death through our veins.” 

John smirked and surged forward, keen on biting Sherlock’s face and snorting when Sherlock pulled away. “I’d rather stay on the cliff than join you and your insanity.” 

“Careful, John. You’ll regret these words when I have you at the palm of my hand. Whether you like it or not, you’re mine already. You just need to come to terms with it. And if pain is the only way you’ll see that, then I’d be more than happy to oblige and give you pain.” 

John sensually came an inch closer, almost pressing his lips against Sherlock’s. “I’d like to see you try, Sherlock.” 

John quickly escaped Sherlock’s hold and shot his hand towards Sherlock’s throat, holding him in place. Sherlock purposely released John and allowed his little scorpion to choke him. But Sherlock reached down and cupped John’s cock, firmly squeezing John’s shaft and pressing the heel of his hand against John’s growing erection. 

“The game, John Watson, is on.” 

Before Sherlock and John could proceed; Greg cleared his throat and said, “Um, mates. We’re here at Camp Redwood already.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a friendly reminder, this is my fic and if you do not like the way I portray the characters, then please don’t waste your time reading and then leaving a mean comment. If what I write is not to your liking, please find another author that will satisfy your cravings. 
> 
> Toodles :)


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